


Kiss, Bang

by Jackdaw816



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, M/M, Temporary Character Death, The Year That Never Was (Doctor Who)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26131279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackdaw816/pseuds/Jackdaw816
Summary: John Hart's first arrival in Cardiff. His real first arrival
Relationships: Jack Harkness/John Hart
Comments: 16
Kudos: 40
Collections: Torchwood Fan Fests: Bingo Fest 2020





	Kiss, Bang

**Author's Note:**

> Squares filled: Bullet wounds

The man stepped out of the glow of the Rift into a Cardiff car park and was instantly greeted by a dozen human soldiers and a handful of strange silver spheres. He looked them over calmly, then drew his sword.

“Well, this seems unfair,” he quipped before smiling, dark and feral. “For you.” The spheres hung back and watched, recording and transmitting. The time traveler managed to dispatch three soldiers with his blade before leaving it impaled in the body of the third and going for his guns.

The Master tuned into the broadcast in time to watch the red-coated man drop another half-dozen of his human operatives with well-placed bullets. He seemed intent to win, but one operative managed to wrench a gun out of his hand and punch him in the face. He went down, and another operative stomped on his wrist until he dropped the second gun.

From his palace in the sky, the Master yawned. Probably just another random human spat out by the Rift, albeit this one a well-trained soldier. But then he noticed something on the man’s unbroken wrist. A vortex manipulator. Well, well.

“Wait,” the Master said, voice ringing from the Toclafane. The soldier froze, gun to the fallen man’s head. 

“Bring him in. Alive,” the Master ordered. He grinned. If this man was a Time Agent, perhaps he knew his pet freak. He’d only managed to capture one member of the Torchwood team, and she’d barely lasted a day. Lots of blood and tears, absolutely glorious, but short-lived. This man looked strong. He’d last. He’d be a grand way to break the immortal.

The prisoner fought the whole way to the Valiant, everything from knives hidden in his coat to the cruel words of his barbed tongue. By the time they reached their final destination, he’d been bound and gagged with a smattering of bruises rising along his face and arms. They’d paid no mercy to his broken wrist, cuffing it back just the same.

The Master met them on the bridge. An operative handed him the vortex manipulator, and he examined it carefully. The prisoner glared at him with as much ‘fuck you’ as a man could muster.

“Now, this is a pretty piece of tech,” the Master said. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, it’s cheap and nasty time travel. Nothing at all like the luxury of a TARDIS. But it’s functional, and in the hands of an expert, almost as useful.” He tucked it into the pocket of his suit jacket and grinned. “Tell me, where’d you get it?” He motioned for the gag to be removed.

“Your mum,” the prisoner spat the second the fabric left his mouth. The Master tutted at him.

“Real answers now, Mister-” he trailed off, expecting the man to give him a name. Instead, he stayed quiet and glared. “I see your Agency has trained you well.”

“What agency?” he replied, almost completely believable but for a slight quirk of his lip. The Master grinned. So he was a Time Agent. Perfect.

“The Time Agency, of course,” he carried on, gesturing for a screen to be brought forward. “Is that why you came, to fetch back your compatriot?”

“No clue what you’re on about; I’m just here for a diamond.” The Master believed him, but something in his gaze betrayed deeper intent. “Though it seems I may have picked a bad time. Didn’t realize Earth was scheduled for totalitarian domination this year.” The Master chuckled.

“Take a look anyway,” He snapped his fingers, and the screen lit up. He had plenty of cameras in the engine room, to record the best views of his sessions with the man held therewithin. The one projected now was a wide-shot, showing all of Jack Harkness as he hung from chained arms. He was sleeping now, or maybe unconscious, his head hung so his face was hidden.

He prepared to switch the feed to one with a better view of his face, but there was no need. The prisoner made a sharp noise in the back of his throat, instinctual and panicked. He tried to cover it, but it was enough. The Master had heard.

“So you do know him,” the Master said, stalking closer. He laid a harsh hand on the man’s shoulder, then withdrew it when he tried to bite him. “Humans, so uncivilized.” He snapped his fingers, and the gag was replaced. The prisoner said something, muffled by the gag but undoubtedly vulgar.

“Let’s pay him a visit, shall we?” He strode toward the engine room, the prisoner dragged after him. The Master grinned. Now, this was going to be fun.

* * *

Jack was trying to sleep. It was a futile quest. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see Tosh on the floor, bloody and beaten, smiling up at Jack as the Master put a bullet in her head. But being awake wasn’t much better, so sleep he tried. His arms and wrists ached from the chains, but after three months, he was used to it.

When he heard footsteps in the corridor, his head snapped up. It wasn’t mealtime, so it could only mean bad news. Regular guards or the Master himself, they both took their pleasure from his pain.

The door opened, and the Master came in, grinning that hated grin. He wasn’t alone; he was accompanied by two guards and a prisoner that Jack couldn’t quite make out. His heart sank. He’d captured someone else. Tosh’s body flashed in front of his eyes again, and he flinched. _Oh god, please don’t be Ianto._ The Master clapped his hands together.

“Brought you a present,” the Master said. “Or rather, I brought me a present.” He stepped aside to allow the guards to bring the prisoner forward. Jack didn’t recognize him at first, then their eyes locked and Jack’s face paled.

“Talis?” he breathed in disbelief. The prisoner nodded shakily. The Master snapped, and his gag was loosened. He spat it out, then grinned softly.

“Hey, Jav. Fancy seeing you here.” Jack wanted to laugh and cry. This was a piece of his life he never thought he’d see again. And the fact that he was seeing him now - Jack forcefully cleared his expression. If the Master knew how much he actually cared, he would make it hurt so much worse.

“It’s Jack now,” Jack said sharply. “Jack Harkness. You?”

“John Hart,” he drawled, forcibly parodying Jack’s name. That was fine. He didn’t understand that Jack had moved on from petty aliases. And Jack didn’t want the Master to know any scrap of truth.

“If you’re looking for information, you won’t get any from him,” Jack scoffed. “He’s a pathological liar.”

“But you care about him,” the Master said, stepping between them. “And I don’t want information from him. I want information from you.” The Master leaned in close, and Jack resisted the urge to spit in his face. It wouldn’t be worth it in the long run. 

“So, I’ll offer you a deal,” the Master said, grinning like he was doing Jack a favor. “Tell me what you know about Martha Jones’ location, and I’ll let him live.” Jack opened his mouth, and the Master pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh. I’ll give you a moment or two alone to discuss it. I daresay Agent Hart will have an opinion on the matter.

“Former Agent!” John snapped grumpily. They ignored him.

“Rot in hell,” Jack spat. The Master just grinned and patted him condescendingly on the head. Then he wiped his hand on his jacket like he’d touched something nasty. 

“Five minutes and then I expect your decision,” the Master said, still smiling. He and his guards left the room, latching the door with a solid click. John stood there for a moment, hands cuffed, but otherwise free. Then Jack smiled at him, and John rushed across the room.

“I’m-” Jack started but was cut off by John’s kiss. It had been decades, but his kiss was still so familiar. Not to mention, aside from Tish, it was the only positive physical contact he’d had in months. So he leaned into it, wishing his hands were free so he could run them through John’s hair, down his sides, anything. He just wanted to hold him.

Eventually, John pulled back from the kiss, but he stayed close, body pressing up against Jack’s. Jack couldn’t help but smile as he leaned into the warmth. He didn’t know how John knew that he needed this right now, but he wasn’t going to complain.

“Are you alright?” Jack asked, voice low. He didn’t know if the cameras had audio, but if they kept quiet, maybe that would be enough. John shrugged.

“My dominant wrist is broken, a psychotic dictator has my vortex manipulator, and there’s a very good chance I’ll die in the next five minutes. Do you think I’m alright?” Jack looked concernedly at John’s bound hands, then smirked.

“You’re also handcuffed, so I’d say you’re doing good,” Jack ventured. There was a moment of silence before John laughed. They both chuckled softly for a moment or two before John’s face grew serious.

“What happened, Jack? All the history books say first contact isn’t for decades, so why are there billions of Toclafane flooding the streets? How’d this bastard get in charge?” Jack gritted his teeth and gave John the short version. Then he waited for John’s string of swears to die off.

“I can’t believe he actually made a paradox machine,” Jack said, glad to have someone around who actually understood the threat it posed. 

“That’s some big-time no-no shit he’s playing with,” John spat with a nod. “The universe will correct itself eventually.”

“But not soon enough.” Jack sighed. “I’ve already lost someone, and I have more to lose.” John gave him a curious look.

“You’ve got native, have you? Got yourself a team?” Jack rolled his eyes, but nodded. “Cute. And I assume this Martha Jones is one of them?” Jack shook his head.

“No, but she may as well be. She’s out there, working on a plan to save us all,” Jack said, letting hope seep into his voice. “She’s our only hope.” Understanding lit John’s eyes.

“She’s an asset you can’t afford to lose. But I am.”

“That’s not what I meant-”

“That’s exactly what you meant,” John cut him off firmly. “Your Martha needs to remain free if anyone else has a chance at freedom. So you can’t take the madman’s deal. You shouldn’t anyway. That is not a man you should trust.”

“Believe me, I know,” Jack said bitterly. He frowned down at John. “Are you sure?”

“If it’s a paradox machine, it may be reversible. Martha is your best bet.” John grinned up at him. “I’ll be fine, Jav. You can trust me.”

“I can’t-” Jack started when the door slid open. John instinctively jumped away from him, and he mourned the loss of contact. The Master came in, grinning maniacally.

“Time’s up,” he said and they fixed him with twin death glares. “Have you made a decision?” Jack took a deep breath and looked at John. He nodded, giving his consent for his demise. God, sometimes Jack hated his life.

“I have,” Jack said calmly, much calmer than he felt. “And you can fuck off with your deal.” The Master’s eyes flashed with rage, but then he turned and smiled pityingly at John.

“How’s it feel knowing you’re playing second fiddle to a woman you’ve never met?” the Master asked. John looked him in the eyes and smiled.

“How’s it feel knowing you’ll never love someone enough to trust them with your life?” John retorted. Jack beamed. The Master smiled mockingly, then pulled a gun and shot John in the head.

“No!” Jack shouted, pulling against the chains. He thrashed pointlessly, yanking his shoulder right out of his socket. The Master clucked his tongue.

“It’s rather a shame, Jack,” the Master said. “We could have had so much fun together.”

“I am going to break your fucking neck, you sociopathic coward,” Jack shouted, his anger keeping the pain of his arm at bay. The Master started to laugh, then yelped as something inside his suit jacket exploded. He pulled it off and stamped on it until the flames died. Jack watched curiously.

“What the-” the Master said, kicking aside the burnt fabric to reveal the remnants of a vortex manipulator, leather scorched and the mechanics ruined beyond repair. Jack stared at the wreckage for a moment before bursting out in peals of laughter. John must have rigged his manipulator to blow in case of his death, so no one could use it but him. What a selfish bastard, but Jack had never loved him more than in that moment.

“And what’s so funny?” the Master snapped. He raised the gun again and shot Jack twice in the chest. As he bled out, he cast one final glance at John. He’d fallen backward, head tilted in Jack’s direction. A drop of blood had trickled from the just off-center bullet hole, marring his handsome face.

But the worst part was his eyes. It was always the eyes. They said eyes were the windows to the soul. Jack had learned that to be true. Jack could always read John via his eyes, whether they were glimmering with mischief or flaring with anger. Now, there was nothing, gray-blue staring emptily at absolutely nothing. 

Jack’s heart broke, then it ceased to beat.

When he gasped back to life, he was alone, the floor scrubbed clean. It was like John had never been there. And maybe he never had.

**Author's Note:**

> I promised I have a less angsty "John during TYTNW" fic in the works. But in the meantime... sorry?


End file.
